


will this be on the test?

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Middle School, Novelty Ties, a... roller disco?, kickball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “Hey there,” he says, and he suddenly can’t remember what to do with his hands. He rests one on his hip, and prays it looks normal. “I’m, uh, your new assistant principal, Mr. McDavid. You can, um, call me Mr. McD.”





	will this be on the test?

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%
> 
> Inspired by the fact that Connor accepted the 2017 Ted Lindsay award looking like a middle school vice principal. Thanks to ftc for edits and thealidoyle for the cheerleading!
> 
> I am not a teacher, nor am I a vice principal, and I don't know how accurate any of this is at all in any way, shape, or form. Roughly based on my middle school, which was a small and terrible private school that didn't seem to have expectations for its teachers or curriculum standards? I am so sorry to anyone who actually works at a school. 
> 
> ETA (12/7/17): made a few small changes to this! reformatted the dashes/scene breaks, and also tweaked the last day of school scene.
> 
> Bonus content in the endnotes!

**Fall**

It’s the first day of school and Connor is wearing a plain blue tie that he’d had to tie 3 times because he was so nervous. He’s sitting onstage with the rest of the staff as the various homerooms trickle into the auditorium, and the sheer number of them is overwhelming.

He knows he’s gonna be good at this job – or at least, after all the money, time, and effort he poured into getting a degree in school administration, he hopes he will be – but it’s one thing to sit in staff meetings and get to know the other teachers, and another to win over middle schoolers.

“Hey,” says the guy next to him – Dylan Strome, the math teacher. “Don’t look so scared, you’re gonna be good.”

“I’m not scared,” Connor lies. Dylan gives him a kind, knowing smile, and Connor appreciates it.

“I mean, I would be,” Dylan says. “Just, you shouldn’t. The kids here are fine.” He pauses, considering. “Well, fine for middle schoolers. But they hated the last vice principal, so you’re already at an advantage.”

“Good to know,” Connor says, and Dylan looks like he’s about to say something else, but Principal Crosby steps up to the mic and clears his throat before he can get it out.

“Hello,” Sidney says. “Welcome to the first day of school!”

The kids cheer, though there are a few boos that Connor can pick out.

“I hope you’re all ready for a really great year. We have a lot to look forward to, and a lot of really awesome new changes. I’d just like to start off by introducing some of our new staff.”

He goes down the line and says their names, and Connor can feel the eyes of three hundred curious adolescents on him when Sidney says, “Assistant Principal McDavid.” Connor awkwardly holds up a hand and hope he doesn’t have pit stains.

The head P.E. teacher, Coach Nurse, says a few words about some new facilities, which honestly sound pretty cool – he thinks he might see if he can use them after-hours – and then it’s Connor’s turn to speak.

He turns to Dylan, who gives him an encouraging smile, and then Connor gulps, straightens his tie, and walks up to the mic.

“Hey there,” he says, and he suddenly can’t remember what to do with his hands. He rests one on his hip, and prays it looks normal. “I’m, uh, your new assistant principal, Mr. McDavid. You can, um, call me Mr. McD,” he says, hoping it comes across as light and not forced. He probably fails. “So, we have a lot to look forward to. There are a couple of new rules that I think will really help make sure you’re all, um, paying attention and focused. For starters, you’re all expected to use these really nice planners you got during homeroom – they’re really nice, I wish I had one of these when I was in school.” It’s true – they’re pretty great planners. “We’re also introducing a no-phone policy in all classrooms.”

That’s met with a groan from the students, which Connor expected. “I know, you all want to be on Facebook, but you’re here to learn,” he says. ”If it’s an emergency, you can use one of the classroom phones, or talk to your teacher. Uh, most importantly, we have a zero-tolerance bullying policy, so if you know someone who’s being bullied, come and tell me, because that’s something I will not tolerate. Lastly, my door is always open, so if you ever want to talk, I’m around.” He waves, and then has to stop himself from wincing at his own awkwardness.

He quickly returns back to his seat.

“You were good,” Dylan murmurs as Sidney says a few final words to the students.

“I guess,” Connor says. “Not too awkward?”

“Nope, the perfect amount,” Dylan says, and Connor can see his small smile out of the corner of his eye.

“–And you guys all have 15 minutes to get to your first official class of the year,” Sidney says. “Good luck!”

The students clap and begin to file out, and Dylan stands up. “My cue to leave,” he says.

“Good luck,” Connor says. “Let me know if you have any issues with the textbooks.”

“You already counted them three times, I think you’ll be fine,” Dylan says. “I’m excited, though, pre-Algebra is my favorite to teach.”

“Yeah?” Connor says, and he smiles. “What’s fun about it?”

“Oh, man,” Dylan says, lighting up. “I’d need way more than 15 minutes. I’ll tell you later in the teacher's lounge?”

“Sure,” Connor says, excited at the promise of another conversation with Dylan.

“Sweet,” Dylan says. “See you later.”

“Bye,” Connor says, and Dylan flashes him one last smile before running off.

***

The first day is going – fine. Decent. He's mildly terrified, but he thinks he's doing okay, so far.

It’s just – Connor really, really hates the word “detention,” and he’s been trying to work up the nerve to talk to Sidney about it for days, now, and it’s the first day of school, so this is, like, his last possible chance to bring it up. He’s lingering in the teacher’s lounge at the end of 2nd period, and Sidney’s right at the other table, drinking coffee and talking to some of the other staff, and Connor’s been mentally preparing to go over and strike up a conversation for ten minutes.

He must be staring a little too intently, because Mitch Marner sits down next to him and says, quietly, “Crosby’s fun to look at, but you know he’s married, right?”

Connor startles a bit. “What? No, I was just–” he lowers his voice. “I wanted to talk to him about something work-related. Just, you know, psyching myself up.” He can feel himself blushing.

“It’s okay if you think he’s pretty,” Mitch says. “We all do, at first.”

Connor does, in fact, think Sidney Crosby is incredibly good-looking, but that’s probably just a function of having eyes. “I’m serious,” he says. “I just don’t know how to talk to him when he’s on a break, and I want to get this done, like, now.”

“What’s it about?” Mitch asks.

“Well, one of the things I’m supposed to do is, uh, run detention? But I don’t – I think we should call it something different, and I know it’s like, such a small thing, but I don’t want to change it halfway through the year, that could be confusing, you know?”

Mitch nods. “Gotcha.” He raises his voice. “So why don’t you like detention?” he asks loudly, and Sid glances over.

“Uh,” Connor says, “I just think–”

“Speak up?” Mitch says. “Sorry, I rode in with Stromer today, and he likes to blast his music.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Connor can see what Mitch is doing. “Most of the things they get in trouble for are just missing homework or being distracted during class, so it could probably be best to just have, you know, mandatory study hall. If it’s something more serious, I would want to talk to them anyway. I think calling it detention makes kids so defensive.”

Connor gulps as he sees Sidney get up from where he’s talking to Nurse Fleury and walks over. “Hi,” Sidney says. “Couldn’t help but overhear. What were you talking about? Restructuring detention?”

“No, not restructuring,” Connor says quickly. “Just renaming. A lot of schools have started calling it mandatory study hall, which is more like what it is, and–”

“Ah,” Sidney says, and he smiles. “That’s fine. I wasn’t the biggest fan of ‘detention’ anyway.”

“I don’t think anyone is,” Mitch says, and Sidney laughs.

“I guess not. Well, call it what you like, and make sure to keep teachers in the loop. How’s your first day going?”

Connor shrugs. “You know how it is. First day stuff. Lots of coordinating.”

“You’re holding up okay?” Sidney asks, putting his hand on the back of Connor’s chair.

Connor nods. “It’s fine. I’ll let you know if anything comes up, for sure.”

“Good,” Sidney says. “I’m going to get back to my office, now.”

“See you,” Connor says, and Sidney walks away.

Once he’s gone, Mitch turns to him. “Sorry to spring that on you,” he says.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Connor says. “Plus, it worked.”

“Duh, every idea of mine works,” Mitch says. “Ask Stromer.”

“Stromer?” Connor asks.

“Dylan Strome,” Mitch says. “Really likes math? Kind of looks like a raccoon?”

“He doesn’t–” Connor starts, and then he blushes, not really sure he’s in a place to defend Dylan’s looks. “Are you guys friends?”

Mitch looks amused. “Yep, since freshman year of college. He’s pretty much the reason I’m a teacher,” he explains.

“Oh,” Connor says, not sure what to make of that.

“He’s a really good dude,” Mitch says, and Connor blushes even more.

“That’s – thanks, yeah,” Connor says.

Mitch laughs. “I’m gonna go prep for class, but I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Connor says. “I’m gonna go back to my office.”

“Sweet,” Mitch says. “In case you were wondering, Stromer’s gonna get a cup of coffee from here after 4th period.”

“Um,” Connor says, and he knows his face must be bright red.

Mitch gives him a smug look, then turns around and walks away. “You’re welcome,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Connor says belatedly.

***

Connor hears the bell ring to signal the end of 4th period, and mentally prepares himself to go to the teacher’s lounge. Not that he’s trying to run into Dylan, but, well, he isn’t  _ not  _ trying to.

Unfortunately, as he stands up, Dylan opens the door to his office, and there’s a girl next to him.

“Oh,” Dylan says, surprised. “Were you heading out, or–“

“No, it’s fine,” Connor says, sitting down quickly. “What’s up?”

“Well, this is Jenny,” Dylan says.

“Hi,” Jenny says.

“Hi,” Connor says, and he smiles. “Nice to meet you, Jenny. How can I help?”

“Well, my water bottle broke in my backpack, and my planner got ruined,” she says.

“Alright, well, that’s a pretty easy fix,” Connor says. “One second.” He goes to the box where the extra planners are kept, and grabs one. “Here you go.”

“Thanks!” she says. “Am I, um, in trouble?”

“Nah,” Connor says. “We have extras, accidents happen. What about the rest of your stuff?”

“Her sister is helping her dry her backpack,” Dylan says. “Did you want to go put that in your locker?”

“Sure,” Jenny says. “Thanks, Mr. McD!”

“No problem,” Connor says, and she scurries out.

Once she’s gone, Dylan turns to Connor. “Thanks,” he says. “She was pretty upset when it broke.”

“She seems fine now,” Connor says.

“Yeah, I think her phone survived, and that was what she was really worried about,” Dylan says.

“Figures,” Connor says. “Any other issues?”

Dylan shakes his head. “Nope. It’s always great to give the kids their first huge hardcover textbook, though,” he says.

“What, enjoy scaring them?” Connor asks, smiling.

Dylan shakes his head. “They pretend to hate it, but they’re always secretly proud. They feel like real students, y’know? Worksheets are kid stuff. Textbooks are mature.”

“Of course,” Connor says.

“So, uh, were you heading out when we barged in?” Dylan asks. “Sorry if I interrupted.”

“Nah, I was just gonna get some more coffee,” Connor says.

“Oh, I was too,” Dylan says. “Wanna walk over together?”

Connor smiles and nods.

***

The first few days of school are spent fielding calls from parents and coordinating with teachers, and kids aren’t getting in trouble yet, so Connor’s used to using his mandatory study hall time to catch up on work. Connor doesn’t see much of the students at all, which is kind of sad, but it’s kind of a relief to not have to grade anything, and he figures he’ll start getting to know kids eventually.

It’s Friday the first time a student actually shows up for study hall, and Connor’s kind of taken aback, but he thinks he covers for it well. Or at least, Dylan walks in with a grumpy-looking boy and Connor doesn’t spill anything, so he counts it as a success.

“Hello,” Connor says. “Are you here for study hall?”

The boy frowns and crosses his arms.

“Brendan was having some trouble paying attention during class,” Dylan says. “I told him he could talk to me or work on what he missed during study hall, and he chose study hall.”

“Alright,” Connor says. “Nice to meet you, Brendan. Do you have a sheet to work on?”

He nods, still frowning.

“Hey, Mr. McD, can I talk to you outside?” Dylan says. “It’s about the faculty kickball game.”

Connor hasn’t heard about a faculty kickball game, but he nods and follows Dylan outside anyway.

Dylan shuts the door behind him; it’s lunch, so the hallways are empty. “Sorry, that was a total lie, just didn’t want him to think we were gossiping about him.”

“Oh,” Connor says. “Alright. What’s up?”

“Wouldn’t get off his phone. He should work on the sheet, but he doesn’t have to finish it. I don’t know if he’s used to getting in trouble, he seemed kind of freaked out when I told him he’d have to talk to me or come here,” Dylan explains.

“Alright,” Connor says. “Should I let him work, or try and talk to him?”

“Maybe try and talk, I think he’s angry at me,” Dylan says.

“Cool. So, there is no faculty kickball game?” Connor asks.

Dylan smirks. “Oh, no, there definitely is. I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

“Sweet,” Connor says. “I’m really good at kickball.”

“I’ll try and get onto your team, then,” Dylan says, and they sort of stare at each other for a second, smiling, before Connor clears his throat.

“I should get back to study hall. See you around?”

“Sure, let me know how it goes,” Dylan says.

“Will do,” Connor says, and then he turns around and goes back into the classroom.

Brendan’s lunch is on the desk, along with his sheet, and his phone isn’t out.

“Hey,” Connor says. “You should eat before you work on that.”

Brendan nods and shoves his notebook aside, then opens up his sandwich bag.

“So,” Connor says, “do you know what you missed in class?”

“I didn’t miss anything,” Brendan says. “I was paying attention.”

“Then why did Mr. Strome think you weren’t?” He hopes it doesn’t come out as an accusation.

“I was looking something up on my phone about math.”

“Ah,” Connor says. “What was it?”

“We were learning about irrational numbers, and I watched a really cool video on irrational numbers, and I wanted to ask about it, so I looked it up, but then I got in trouble,” Brendan says.

“Did you tell Mr. Strome that?” Connor asks, and Brendan shakes his head.

“He told me I had to talk to him at lunch, or come to detention,” Brendan says.

“This isn’t detention, it’s study hall,” Connor says. “It sounds like this whole thing was just a misunderstanding. Mr. Strome really likes math, so I think he would really want to know what you were looking up.”

“But now I’m stuck here and I have to do this dumb sheet,” Brendan says. “I can’t even do my homework.”

“Do you want me to get you a textbook from Mr. Strome so you can work on that instead?” Connor suggests.

“Is that allowed?” Brendan says.

“Sure,” Connor says. “Finish eating your lunch, alright?”

“Okay,” Brendan says, and he seems mollified.

Connor walks out of the room and heads down the hall to Dylan’s classroom. Dylan’s there, thankfully, as is Mitch, who’s sitting on a desk. Dylan looks like he’s trying to grade, but Mitch is talking to him.

“I’m sure he just–” Mitch says.

“Hey, Davo,” Dylan says, catching sight of Connor.

“Davo?” Connor asks.

Dylan shrugs. “I didn’t wanna call you Mr. McD,” he says.

Connor smiles. “I like it. So, uh, Brendan says he was trying to look up something about math on his phone, which is why he got in trouble.”

“Oh,” Dylan says, frowning. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he could get a head start on his homework, and I’m probably gonna send him over here before the end of lunch to ask you a question.”

“Good,” Dylan says. “He did seem really upset.”

“I think he likes math, so he doesn’t want you to dislike him,” Connor says.

“That’s so cute,” says Mitch. “Stomer’s turning them into little math nerds.”

“Nah, math is just awesome,” Dylan says. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Connor says. “Can I grab a textbook?”

“Sure thing,” Dylan says. “Here.” He reaches under his desk and grabs one, then hands it to Connor.

“Thanks,” Connor says. “Everything good with you?” he asks, turning to Mitch.

“Yep, no major issues,” Mitch says. “Just lots of mitochondria.”

“Powerhouse of the cell,” Dylan and Connor say at the same time.

“Oh my god,” Mitch says. “Is that all anyone remembers?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Connor says. “I was an English major in college.”

“You tutored me through freshman bio, so if I don’t remember anything, it’s your fault,” Dylan says.

Connor laughs at Mitch’s indignant face. “Alright, I’ll see you guys later. Gonna head back to study hall,” he says.

“Hey, wanna come out with us tonight?” Mitch asks.

Connor shrugs. “Sure.” He doesn’t have anything else to do, and Mitch and Dylan are pretty much his closest work friends.

“Sweet, give Dylan your number and he’ll text you the details,” Mitch says, and Dylan looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t say anything.

“Sure, uh, I’ll email it to you?” Connor says, which might be the most awkward suggestion ever, but he doesn’t want to stick around and put it in Dylan’s phone, and he can’t exactly write it on the whiteboard.

“Yeah, sure,” Dylan says. “Whatever works for you.” He smiles at Connor, and Mitch makes a satisfied humming noise.

Connor gives them a wave, then heads back to study hall, textbook in hand.

***

“Davo!” Dylan says when Connor walks into the bar, and waves him over to their table.

“Hey,” Connor says as he walks over to them.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you not wearing a tie,” Mitch says, looking him up and down.

“Went to the gym after work and didn’t really feel like putting one back on,” Connor says. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“Well,” Dylan says, “we usually go out on Fridays, to talk about stuff that’s not work, but this isn’t our usual place. Do you want to explain why we’re here, Mitch?”

Mitch turns red. “It’s a good place, I read about it online,” he says.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “That’s a blatant lie. Connor, let me tell you one of my favorite stories,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye, and Mitch groans.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Mitch says.

“No, you love me,” Dylan says. “Now, this all began last year at the science fair. This guy shows up, and apparently he’s like, the young, sexy uncle of one of Mitch’s students, and he asked Mitch, like, a zillion questions about it–”

“Because it was a good project,” Mitch says.

“Nope, because he was flirting with you. Anyway, a few weeks later, Mitch saw him at Ikea, then at Whole Foods after that, and then in Starbucks, and like, just around, all the time. Last week, Mitch walked by this bar and saw that he was not just here, but was, in fact, a bartender, so now we’re staking the place out.”

“Wow,” Connor says. “How’s it going?”

Mitch opens his mouth to answer, but Dylan speaks first. “He put his hood up and made me get the drinks.”

Connor shakes his head. “No game.”

“Seriously,” Dylan says.

“Do you really wanna start that?” Mitch says. “Because I have stories about Dylan.”

“Really?” Connor says, amused.

“Hey, Mitch, I think he just noticed you,” says Dylan, pointing in the direction of the bar.

Mitch and Connor both turn to look at where Dylan’s pointing; the guy’s big, and definitely really hot, with floppy hair he keeps pushing out of his face and a serious expression. He’s also walking in their direction.

“Oh shit,” Mitch says. “Can I hide under the table?”

“No,” Dylan says. “Be a person.”

Mitch groans, and Connor has to bite back a laugh.

The guy walks up to their table. “Hey, guys, how’s it going tonight?”

“Great,” Dylan says.

“Cool. Did you want anything to drink?” he asks, turning to Connor.

“Yeah. Hey, Mitch, what did you have?”

“A beer,” Mitch says, his face bright red. Dylan’s smile widens, and Connor feels pleased.

“I’ll have one of those as well,” Connor says.

“You got it. Hey, weren’t you my niece’s science teacher?” the guy asks, turning to Mitch.

“Oh, yeah,” Mitch says. “She had one of the best volcanoes I’ve seen.”

“Yeah,” the guy says, smiling at Mitch. “She said your class was her favorite.”

“Really?” Mitch says. “That’s so great.”

“Yeah, what a small world,” the guy says, and then he turns to Connor. “So, you want one of those?” He points at Mitch’s bottle.

“Yep,” says Connor.

“I’ll be right back with that,” the guy says, nodding.

When he leaves, Mitch says, “I hate you so much.”

“Nope, you love me,” Dylan says. “Davo here is a great co-wingman.”

Connor shrugs, smiling. “I don’t even like beer,” he says.

“Dedicated. I like it,” Dylan says, and Connor feels his cheeks turn pink as Dylan gives him an approving look.

***

Connor wears a tie with pumpkins on it on Halloween.

“That’s a fun look,” Dylan says when he sees him. “Festive.”

“It’s Halloween, so,” Connor says.

During Mitch’s 1st period class, 3 kids start throwing Skittles at each other, which means Connor ends up meeting with all of them at once for a stern lecture on classroom conduct.

“Why did you guys have candy in class?” Connor asks.

“Mr. Marner brought it in,” the student says, which, of course he did.

“Alright, well, that’s a privilege,” Connor says. “If this happens again, each of you is getting a call home, alright?”

“Yes, Mr. McD,” one of them says.

“Sorry,” another adds.

“Won’t happen again,” finishes the third one.

“Good,” Connor says. “Go back to class, alright?”

They open the door to walk out, and Sidney’s on the other side, wearing the exact same tie as Connor.

“Hey, M–” he stops, then looks at his own tie, then at Connor. “Oh look, matching,” he says.

The kids eyes look back and forth between them.

“Ha, yeah,” Connor says. “What a coincidence.”

The door is open, so the kids can see them, and they look surprised and delighted by the awkwardness of it all.

It shouldn’t be a thing, except that middle schoolers are the way they are, and can turn anything into a way to make fun of people.

Dylan hears about it before lunch.

“Can’t believe you coordinated with Crosby and not me,” Dylan says when he sees Connor before study hall.

Connor groans. “What, did the kids say something?”

“They’re… pretty amused,” Dylan says diplomatically. “I think they like it, it’s humanizing.”

“I’m never gonna hear the end of this,” Connor says.

“I mean, no, but that’s because of me and Mitch, not the kids,” Dylan says. “Speaking of, smile.” He pulls out his phone and takes a quick picture of Connor.

“I hate you,” Connor says. “I don’t even know why it’s funny.”

Dylan shrugs. “I mean, you’re their vice principal, and Crosby’s their principal, and you’re doing something, like, slightly less than serious,” he says. “They’re not being mean, don’t worry.”

Later that day, a kid insists on high fiving him in the hallway.

“Sweet tie, Mr. McD!” he says, and Connor gives the kid a small nod and a smile.

***

Ties kind of become a thing.

A few days after Halloween, there’s a book fair, and Connor had gotten a tie with books on it as a gift from his brother when he’d completed his Master’s, so it seems fitting to wear it.

“You’re gonna set a trend, Davo,” Dylan says when he sees it.

Connor shrugs. “Not a bad thing, right?”

“Nah, it’s cute,” Dylan says, and then he smiles when Connor blushes. “What are you gonna wear for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know, do they sell turkey ties?” Connor asks.

“I’ll look into it,” Dylan says.

The next day, there’s one waiting on the door of his office, and a smirk on Dylan’s face.

So Connor keeps finding festive ties, and every few weeks finds an excuse to wear one. It might be geeky, but Connor’s already a middle school vice principal, so geekiness is kind of a foregone conclusion.

He’s wearing one with snowflakes on it the last day before they have a week off for various winter holidays. It’s a Friday, and everyone’s itching to leave, including Connor. He just has one last staff meeting to get to before he can head to his apartment and pack up before hopping on a flight to Toronto, and he’s trying not to come across as too antsy.

There’s a knock on his door five minutes before he has to leave.

“Come in,” he says, and he’s really not surprised to see Dylan on the other side.

“Hey,” Dylan says. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Connor ignores the nervous feeling in his stomach. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Um, so, I’ve – I don’t know if anyone told you, but I’ve been looking at jobs at other schools.”

The floor kind of falls out from under Connor. “Oh,” he says.

“It’s – this has been a thing for a while, I like this place fine, but the pay’s better, and I, uh, just wanted to tell you. Because we’re friends, and stuff,” he says, and his face turns red.

“Right,” Connor says. “So, uh, did you find one? Is that why you’re telling me?”

Dylan nods. “It’s not like I’m unhappy here. I just didn’t want you to hear it through the grapevine.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Connor says. “So, uh, you’re moving?”

“What? No,” Dylan says, furrowing his brow. “Just going to the public school.”

A wave of relief washes over Connor. “Oh!” he says, and Dylan must see the tension drop from his face, because he cracks a small smile.

“Yeah, same old stuff, just a different building. No more shared teachers’ lounge.”

Connor wants to ask if they’ll still be able to hang out, or if that was just because they were coworkers, but he doesn’t really know how to. “But you’re still, like, here,” he says.

“Yeah, still here,” Dylan says.

“Cool,” Connor says, and he smiles.

“Now, other thing: I’m pretty sure Mitch is secretly dating that bartender guy. Wanna run a recon mission with me after our meeting?”

Connor considers it; his flight is early tomorrow morning, and he wanted to spend some time packing leisurely. But the idea of an adventure with Dylan is too fun to turn down.

“Of course,” he says, and Dylan beams at him.

***

Connor meets Dylan at his apartment, which he’s never been to. He figures they’re on a covert operation, so he wears all black, which works, because Connor’s favorite t-shirt is black, and he likes to think he looks good in it.

Dylan and Mitch are roommates, Connor knows, and it’s pretty clear that this is a place inhabited by two teachers.

“Wow,” Connor says. “Your grading is everywhere.”

“Sorry it’s a mess,” Dylan says, his tone unapologetic.

Connor shrugs. “It’s cool.” He unzips his jacket, and is both pleased and embarrassed when Dylan’s gaze drifts down.

“Jesus, how much time do you spend at the gym?” Dylan asks, then looks embarrassed.

“I dunno, 4, 5 times a week?”

“Oh, god,” Dylan says. “Alright. So, Mitch was being shady about his plans for tonight, and just said he had ‘a thing.’ So I was thinking that if we’re doing something really fun and sending him snaps, he’ll have to send us one back, right?”

Connor crosses his arms. “I gotta say, Strome, I’m disappointed. I thought this was going to be a secret mission.”

“It is! We’re gonna bust in on his date like we’re spies, I promise. Just figured it would be better if we didn’t, like, trail his car and get the cops called on us.”

“Fair,” Connor says. “Actually, that would be funny.”

“I’m sure the students would have a field day,” Dylan says.

“Okay, good point,” Connor says. “So, where were you thinking we go?”

“It’s a place a couple of my buddies own, and they’ve been bugging me to come by for a while,” Dylan says. “Apparently it’s doing really well, it just opened a few months ago, right outside town.”

“Okay,” Connor says, hesitant.

“It’s kind of silly, but it will definitely get Mitch to snap us back,” Dylan says.

“But what kind of place is it?” Connor asks, getting concerned.

“Uh,” Dylan says nervously, “a rink?”

“Oh, sweet, yeah,” Connor says, and then smiles at him. “I’m game.”

“Awesome,” Dylan says.

***

“You’re a fucking liar,” Connor tells Dylan as they lace up their skates.

Their  _ roller  _ skates, because Dylan had neglected to tell Connor that “rink” apparently meant “roller disco.”

“I didn’t technically lie,” Dylan says. “It’s a rink.”

“Don’t know how it is where you grew up, but I’m from Toronto, so ‘rink’ means ice rink. There isn’t any ice here,” Connor says.

He’s not actually mad at Dylan, but he is kind of annoyed. Connor’s good at ice skating – like, really good – and he’d been sort of hoping to, like, show off.

Not that he’s trying to impress Dylan.

“You’re from Toronto?” Dylan asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Heading back there tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Dylan says. “I am too. From there, I mean, not going back.”

“Seriously? How did this never come up before?” Connor asks.

Before Dylan can reply, a blonde guy with thick eyebrows walks up to them. “Stromer, my man,” the guy says, smiling.

“Mikey!” Dylan says. “What’s up?”

“Finally managed to make it out here?” the guy – Mikey – asks.

“Yep, dragged our new vice principal, too,” Dylan says. “This is Connor.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mikey McLeod,” he says, extending a hand in Connor’s direction.

“Connor McDavid,” he replies. “Is this place yours?”

“Yep, mine and Nater’s,” he says.

“Where is he tonight?” Dylan asks.

“He always DJ’s on disco night. Any requests?” Mikey asks.

Dylan shakes his head. “I trust your man.”

“Can you roller skate?” Mikey asks Connor.

“I can ice skate?” Connor says. “Think that’ll help?”

Mikey and Dylan exchange a look. “Maybe,” Mikey says, in a way that makes Connor think it won’t help at all.

As it turns out, Connor is pretty awful at roller skating. Dylan’s pretty decent, which makes it worse.

“I’m  _ good  _ at ice skating, you know,” Connor says, clutching the wall. “Played hockey when I was a kid.”

“Didn’t we all?” Dylan says. Connor knows Dylan’s going purposely slow so he doesn’t abandon Connor, which makes Connor even more annoyed.

“Aren’t we supposed to be trying to bust Mitch’s date?” Connor says. He’s not embarrassed, really. He has no reason to be good at roller skating.

“What, that miserable hanging out with me?” Dylan says, turning on his skates and pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Smile,” he says.

Connor does not smile.

“Aw, you look so grumpy,” Dylan says. “It’s perfect.”

“Great, send it,” Connor says. “Sooner we get out of here, the better.”

Dylan frowns at that. “Are you, like, that miserable?”

Connor sighs. “No, it’s just – I don’t like being bad at things.”

“Ah,” Dylan says. “I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know, I know, I’ll stop being an ass about it,” Connor says. “It would be more fun if I could, like, let go of the wall.”

“You can,” Dylan says, shrugging.

“I’ll probably fall,” Connor says. Falling would be just as embarrassing, and painful to boot.

“You can hold on to me?” Dylan says, holding out a hand.

Connor blushes at the thought, but grabs Dylan’s arm anyway. Most people are holding hands with someone, anyway, and not all of them can be on dates.

Dylan’s taller than Connor, and when Connor wraps a hand around his bicep, he finds that it’s surprisingly toned. He almost comments, then decides against it.

“Thanks,” Connor says, and it comes out shyer than he wants it to. He really hopes the lights make it hard to see whatever color his face is right now.

“Of course,” Dylan says, smiling at him.

Dylan drags Connor around the rink for a lap, and Connor smiles, even if it is mildly terrifying letting Dylan steer him. It’s fun, though, moving fast, and there aren’t enough people for Connor to be truly concerned.

The music is fun, in a lame kind of way, and Connor can’t help but move his head back and forth a little bit when they stop. Dylan laughs.

“What? It’s good music,” Connor says.

“You’re just funny, is all,” Dylan says, and Connor would be mildly offended, but something in Dylan’s smile tells him he means it in a good way.

They take another lap, this time side by side, a little slower, and Dylan starts to dance a little bit too. It’s incredibly cute, and Connor smiles at him.

“Hey,” Dylan says, “stay just like that.”

Connor does, and Dylan takes out his camera for another picture.

For a second, Connor’s confused, but then he remembers the whole point of the being here is to send Snapchat bait. “Any word from Mitch?” he asks.

“Nah, nothing yet,” Dylan says. “Hasn’t seen the message.”

“If he’s on a date, that would make sense–”

Connor is interrupted by a voice over the loudspeaker as the song ends. “Hello, all you fine folks enjoying this fun and funky Friday evening with us,” it says. “This is DJ Nate here to let you know we’re gonna slow it down a little.”

The song that starts up is the exact kind of sappy disco song that Connor would expect. He feels his cheeks heat up, and he looks over at Dylan and sees him looking down at his phone. Connor thinks Dylan might be blushing, too.

“Let’s, uh, keep skating,” Dylan says. Connor nods, and isn’t sure if he should grab Dylan’s arm again or but, but the Dylan offers it.

They don’t say anything as they skate around, and Connor’s kind of freaking out. It’s almost painfully romantic, and he doesn’t want to make Dylan uncomfortable. Even if Connor isn’t technically his boss, he’s still his friend, and his coworker too, and–

And Dylan’s cute, and has a sweet, lopsided smile and tired eyes, and gets weirdly excited about math, and Connor doesn’t want to mess things up with him.

Dylan doesn’t seem uncomfortable, though, just quiet.

Connor slips, a little bit, but before he hits the ground, Dylan catches him. It’s not quite a full-on damsel-in-distress catch, but Dylan’s hand is on Connor’s lower back, and Connor burns.

“You good?” Dylan asks.

Connor can’t form words, can only nod and look at Dylan’s face and wonder if he’s always been that handsome.

Thankfully, the song ends as Dylan helps Connor get back on his feet.

Dylan pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Mitch snapped me back,” he says. “Let’s check it out.”

“Alright,” Connor says, and they head to the bench to sit down.

When Dylan opens the snap, it’s a picture of Mitch at an ice rink, of all places.  _ do u even sk8 bro?  _ it’s captioned.

“We could have gone ice skating all along,” Connor whines.

“Sorry, bud,” Dylan says. “At least we get to go now.”

Connor perks up at that, and practically drags Dylan out of the roller rink, saying a quick goodbye to Mikey on their way out.

He ignores the amused, knowing look on Mikey’s face.

***

“Jeez, you’re literally bouncing,” Dylan says as he pays for their rentals.

“You don’t have to–” Connor says, because Dylan paid for the roller stuff.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just faster,” Dylan says. “It’s nothing.”

Connor wants to protest, but Dylan’s already handing the guy his card, and Connor’s distracted by the smell of the rink. As soon as the guy hands Connor his skates, he goes to the nearest possible bench.

“You really like skating,” Dylan says, amused.

Connor shrugs. “It’s been a while. I miss it,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dylan says, and sits down next to him and begins tying his skates.

He forgets that they’re trying to find Mitch as soon as he hits the ice, because it feels like coming home. It’s definitely more crowded here, but it’s still not too full.

“Wanna race for one lap?” Dylan says from behind him.

Connor turns to him and narrows his eyes. “You’re on,” he says, and they take off.

It feels like flying, like it always does, and Connor beats Dylan, though Dylan definitely gives him a run for his money.

“Jeez,” Dylan says, “you’re fast.”

“You know how it is,” Connor says, but he can’t help but feel a little smug.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Literally so cocky,” he says.

Connor is about to respond when he sees Mitch, clinging to the bartender’s arm like Connor had been clinging to Dylan’s earlier.

“Oh my god, look,” Connor says, nodding in Mitch’s direction.

Dylan does, then turns back to Connor, his eyes wide. “This is so much better than I could have imagined,” Dylan says, and then he skates over to where Mitch and the bartender have stopped along the wall. Connor follows him.

“Marns!” Dylan yells, and Mitch’s eyes go wide.

“Stromer,” Mitch says. “And Connor. Hey, guys.”

“Hello,” Dylan says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I thought you were at Mikey and Nater’s thing,” Mitch says.

“We were, but Davo here–” Dylan throws an arm over Connor’s shoulder, ”–sucks at roller skating, so we decided to come here.”

“Right,” Mitch says, looking at Connor, who just shrugs.

“I’m a pretty good skater,” Connor says, “didn’t want to stick to the wall the whole time.”

Mitch’s face turns red. “Yeah, it’s not fun. This is, uh, Auston, by the way,” he says, gesturing to the bartender.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand.

Dylan looks elated. “Hello, I think we’ve met before.”

“Yeah, I’ve served you guys, right?”

Connor nods. “What a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “I didn’t realize you two hung out.”

“Well, you know,” Mitch says.

Dylan raises an eyebrow at him, and Mitch raises both of his in response. Auston gives Connor a confused look, which Connor can only shrug at.

“Hey, Connor,” Dylan says, “rematch?”

Connor blinks at him. “Uh, sure,” he says. “Nice running into you guys.”

“Yeah, nice,” Mitch says. “So long.”

Connor and Dylan skate off. “I don’t actually want to race again,” Dylan says. “I’m still recovering from the first one.”

“Fair enough. What was that about?” Connor asks.

“Mitch is, like, the fastest skater I know,” Dylan explains. “He’s pretending he doesn’t know how.” He can’t keep the smile off his face as he says it.

Connor snorts. “That’s so lame,” he says, and then follows it with, “I, uh, actually can’t roller skate.” He immediately regrets saying it, because  _ what the fuck. _

Dylan is unphased, thankfully. “No shit. I don’t think you’re capable of even pretending to be bad at something.”

“Hey,” Connor says.

“It’s a compliment! You’re a very talented person,” Dylan says. “Marns is just being lame. That dude is like, mega into him.”

“Hey,” Mitch’s voice says from behind them, “what the  _ fuck,  _ guys.”

Connor and Dylan turn around as Mitch pulls a full-on hockey stop, showering Dylan with snow.

“It was Davo’s idea,” Dylan says, reaching down to brush the snow off his jeans.

“Was not,” Connor says.

“Alright, it wasn’t,” Dylan says. “Sorry to crash your date, Marns.”

“It’s not a date, he’s just – we’re just skating,” Mitch says, crossing his arms.

“He’s skating, you’re just being pulled along,” Dylan corrects. “Dude, what is that?”

Mitch blushes. “I may have told him I don’t know how to skate,” he says.

“Why?” Dylan asks.

“To get him to teach me?” Mitch says, like it’s obvious.

“Why didn’t you just ask him out?” Dylan says.

“I’m working on it, alright?” Mitch says. “Like you’re one to talk.” He shoots a glance at Connor.

“Hey, don’t,” Dylan says.

“What, you’ve been–”

“Guys,” Connor says, not wanting Mitch to finish his sentence. “It’s not a big deal. Just – you should probably tell him you know how to skate.”

“I guess,” Mitch says. “He’ll probably think I’m a freak.”

“You are a freak,” Dylan says. “But he’ll probably just think it’s cute, alright?”

“Hopefully,” Mitch says. “Ugh, this was a dumb idea.”

“Sorry,” Connor says. “You could’ve just told us you had a date.”

“It’s not a date, I told you,” Mitch says. “I didn’t want to, like, explain it to you guys.”

“Alright,” Dylan says. “Well, he’s coming back on the ice now, so you can probably tell him.”

Mitch looks over his shoulder to see Auston stepping onto the ice. “Alright, fine, but I don’t want you guys around to watch,” he says.

“Fair enough. I’m up for that rematch now, I think,” Dylan says, and then takes off.

“Cheater,” Connor says, skating after him.

Dylan almost beats him this time, but Connor catches up at the last second, and they decide to call it a tie.

When they look over at Mitch, he’s skating backwards and talking to Auston, who’s giving him an amused look.

“Fucking told him,” Dylan says, smiling.

“Nice,” Connor says.

They skate and talk for the rest of the evening, until Connor looks at his watch and sees that it’s 8:30, and he still has to pack and eat dinner.

“Shoot,” Connor says. “I should really go. I have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dylan says, and Connor might be projecting, but he thinks Dylan sounds disappointed.

They skate off, waving goodbye to Mitch and Auston, who are holding hands in earnest now.

Dylan drives them back to his place, so Connor can pick up his car. Once they get there, Connor says, “Man, I forgot to eat dinner.”

“I have food here,” Dylan says, and then adds, “if you want.”

“Oh! Uh, sure,” Connor says, liking the idea of spending more time with Dylan.

“It’s mostly Kraft Dinner,” Dylan says. “Hope you don’t mind that.”

“Oh my god, my college roommate lived off that stuff,” Connor says, smiling. “It’s been so long.”

“Bet he doesn’t make it as good as I do,” Dylan says.

“I’m sure he’d disagree with you,” Connor says, and as Dylan cooks, Connor tells him stories from his days of living with Hallsy, which turns into them reminiscing about college, and Connor really, really doesn’t want to leave.

He ends up staying for another hour, and as he’s about to say he literally can’t stay any more, Mitch walks in.

“Stromer, you – oh, hey, Davo,” Mitch says.

“Hello,” Connor says.

“What’re you doing here?” Mitch asks.

“I forgot to eat dinner, so Dylan cooked me something,” Connor says.

Mitch crinkles his nose. “What do we even have to cook around here?”

“KD,” Dylan says.

“Kinda rude when there’s company over,” Mitch says, giving Dylan’s shoulder a shove.

Connor laughs. “Nah, I’m a simple dude,” he says. “KD was fine. I, uh, have to go, though. Packing.”

“Too bad, you’re gonna miss deets,” Dylan says. “See you.”

“You can at least walk him to his car,” Mitch says.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Sure. Got all your stuff?”

“Yep,” Connor says, and then follows Dylan to the front door.

They walk to the car in silence, and when they get to his car, Dylan clears his throat.

“This was fun,” he says, and then blushes. “Not that it was – uh, I just – that wasn’t–“

“I had a good time,” Connor offers. “Even if roller skating sucks.”

“Ha, yeah,” Dylan says, and he’s looking at his shoes. Connor feels suddenly awkward, and is about to say something to Dylan, when Dylan speaks again. “I, uh, hope you have a good trip, yeah?”

“I will,” Connor says. “Um, thanks. For paying for stuff, and driving, and dinner, and–”

“It was nothing, don’t worry,” Dylan says. “Give Toronto my best?”

“I will,” Connor says, and then Dylan gives him a small, shy smile and walks back to his front door.

Connor climbs into the driver’s seat of his car in a daze, and his breath is suddenly short, and he doesn’t really know what to make of what just happened.

He kind of wants to go back and – and he doesn’t know what, keep talking to Dylan, or something, because his heart is beating fast, like they’d been on the verge of something.

But Dylan is probably talking to Mitch about everything, so all Connor can do is rub a hand over his face and drive away.

* * *

**Spring**

Spring semester is much busier than fall was. There’s the musical, student council elections, overnight field trips, and all the end-of-year events leading up to 8th grade graduation. It’s a lot of coordinating and organization, and if Connor weren’t so determined to be as organized as possible, he’d probably be floundering.

The biggest thing, though, is the faculty kickball game.

Coach Nurse is coordinating it, apparently, and he explains the whole thing to Connor in the teacher’s lounge their first day back.

“The students vote for who they’d like to see as captain, and then we have a draft,” Nurse says “Students get really into it. Make signs and everything.”

“Sounds fun,” Connor says.

“Yeah, there are no official prizes, but we make t-shirts and stuff,” he says.

“Do students design them?” Connor asks, curious.

Nurse raises his eyebrows. “Not usually, but that might be a good idea. Run it by Sid, see if we could do that.”

Connor does, in fact, run it by Sid, who loves it, and tells the student council advisor about it, and soon, they have a t-shirt design contest to monitor on top of everything else.

“My kids won’t stop drawing in class,” Dylan complains. “This is all your fault.”

“Is it becoming a problem?” Connor asks, worried.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Dylan says. “Just funny. They’re even more hyped up about kickball than usual.”

“Good, it should be fun,” Connor says.

“Yeah. You trying to be captain?” Dylan asks.

Connor shrugs. “I mean, it’s just whoever the students vote for, right?”

“Oh, no, man, you gotta campaign for it,” Dylan says.

“Do you actually?” Connor asks.

“Well, I didn’t last year, and I ended up captain, but Marns tries to time his physics unit so that it falls around the time they vote, then talks about the physics of kickball. It’s much more boring than he thinks it is, honestly.”

“I don’t have a curriculum, so I can’t really do much,” Connor says.

“Maybe you’ll luck out,” Dylan says. “I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you. Do they sell kickball-themed ties?”

“Ha,” Connor says, smiling as he takes a sip of coffee. “I’ll look into it.”

***

Connor ends up chaperoning the 8th grade Valentine’s Day dance because Mitch wants to spend time with his boyfriend and not a group of 12 year olds, which is fair, but agreeing to do it makes Connor painfully aware of how single he is.

“Are you married?” a student – Jonah, a 5th grader – asks during study hall the day of the dance.

“Nope,” Connor says.

“I thought all teachers were married,” says Jonah’s friend Kyle.

“Mr. McD isn’t a teacher, duh,” Jonah says.

“Mr. Strome isn’t married,” says Kelly, the 7th grade class treasurer.

“I thought he was married to Mr. Marner,” says Kyle, furrowing his brow.

Connor has to tilt the computer screen to keep the kids from seeing him laugh, and when he can’t stop giggling, he has to excuse himself into the hall. As he’s doubled over with laughter, Sidney walks by and gives him a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Sidney asks.

“Yeah,” Connor says, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. How are you?” he asks.

“Oh, everything’s good. What about you? Any big Valentine’s day plans?”

“My husband and I are going out to dinner. You?”

Connor shakes his head. “Just chaperoning, then probably getting some work done.”

Sidney looks like he’s going to ask another question, but after a second, he just nods and says, “Sounds like a good plan. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” Connor says, and Sidney walks off.

_ Connor: the kids think u n Mitch r married _

_ Dylan: yeah they ask about it every year _

_ Dylan: ive heard worse _

_ Dylan: dont u have study hall 2 run _

_ Connor: lol maybe _

_ Dylan: go do ur job, see u at the dance :) _

They’re probably going to see each other before the dance, but it makes Connor smile to read it anyway, and he has to take an extra second to work his expression back to neutral before he walks back into the room.

The dance itself is pretty awful, but Connor wouldn’t expect any less.

“Honestly, I think your presence here is helping,” Dylan says. “The only thing worse than having your teacher catch you making out with someone is having your vice principal catch you.”

“Was it worse last year?” Connor asks.

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “I mean, it happens, they’re 13, but usually they’re like, pretty humiliated. There was a photo booth last year, which made it worse.”

“I would imagine,” Connor says.

For the most part, though, the kids just dance awkwardly, with girls staying on one side of the room as the boys stay on the other, until the Cotton-Eyed Joe comes on, at which point they all run onto the dance floor. Some kids get really intense about it, and there’s an incident with a nosebleed and an elbow that Connor has to deal with.

When he comes back, Dylan is standing by the chips, keeping an eye on the dance floor.

“Did you have dances in middle school?” Dylan asks.

“Kind of?” Connor says. “There was a Halloween thing every year, but I always went as a hockey player.”

“Wow, creative,” Dylan says drily.

“I already had the stuff lying around,” Connor says defensively. “It was a smart move.”

“You’re right, it’s a very efficient costume, for sure,” Dylan says. “We didn’t have any dances until high school.”

Connor shrugs. “They were alright. Awkward, though.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just all of middle school,” Dylan points out.

“Fair enough,” Connor says, smiling. “We weren’t supposed to have dates, but I brought one anyway.”

“You? A young rebel?” Dylan says, raising an eyebrow as he smiles.

“I mean, that was what the other kids were doing. We didn’t even break any rules. We were just, you know, dating, kind of, and then we danced together when they played a slow song.”

“Aw, little Davo was so romantic,” Dylan says.

“Yeah, my mom made us take pictures together, too. He was Indiana Jones, I’m pretty sure, and I was wearing a Leafs jersey.”

“Can you put me in touch with your mother so I can see these pictures?” Dylan asks.

“Under no circumstances,” Connor says solemnly, and Dylan laughs.

They end up playing one slow song at the very end of the dance, and it’s painfully awkward to watch, but also kind of adorable. It does make Connor glad that he’s not in middle school anymore, though, and when he tells that to Dylan afterwards, he agrees.

The dance is over at 8:30, and Connor and Dylan don’t have to stick around to help with clean-up, so they don’t.

“Man, I don’t want to go back to my place,” Dylan says. “Marns like, decked the whole place out in hearts for Auston. They’re probably still eating dinner.”

“Is he cooking?” Connor asks.

Dylan nods. “He bought tons of ingredients. Either they’re having a super romantic candle-lit meal, or the kitchen is on fire, and neither scenario is something I want to deal with.”

“You can come over to mine?” Connor suggests, and he remembers, for some reason, the night before Christmas break, when Dylan had walked him to his car.

“Alright,” Dylan says.

They end up ordering a pizza and watching a movie, and Connor doesn’t think about how Dylan is sitting a few inches closer to him than he’d expected, or how much he loves the way Dylan’s eyes look when he laughs, or the fact that he wants to tuck himself into Dylan’s chest.

It’s a nice Valentine’s Day, still.

***

Connor tries not to be too happy when Coach Nurse tells him that he’s captaining one of the kickball teams, because kickball is a children’s sport, and he’s a grown man.

The second he walks into the teacher’s lounge, though, Mitch and Dylan burst into applause.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Mitch says. “Captain McD.”

“Congrats, Davo,” Dylan says, flashing Connor a huge smile.

“It’s just a kickball game,” Connor says, trying to seem humble. “I’m sure it will be fun.”

“Well, Crosby’s the other captain,” Mitch says. “He goes  _ hard  _ .”

“Yeah?” Connor says.

“It’s true, he has his team practice and stuff,” Dylan says.

“Do people… not usually have their teams practice?” Connor asks.

Dylan and Mitch stare at him for a second. “Davo,” Dylan asks, “are you gonna make your team practice for the annual faculty kickball game?”

“The kickball game with no real prize? That we’re going to play in front of children?” Mitch adds.

“Well, yeah, I’m the captain,” Connor says. “I don’t want to captain a losing team.”

“It’s  _ kickball,  _ ” Dylan says, a little incredulous.

“I’m not going to let my team lose,” Connor repeats, simply.

“You’re – I can’t decide if I want to ask you to pick me or not,” Mitch says.

“That probably depends on if you’re gonna pretend to be bad at kickball as an excuse to flirt,” Dylan says, “right, Davo?”

“Oh, definitely,” Connor grins.

“You two are the worst,” Mitch says. “I hate you both. For the record, it  _ worked.  _ ”

“It didn’t work, it just didn’t fail,” Dylan says. “You gotta understand that we, as your friends, are, like, morally obligated to make fun of you forever.”

“Whatever, at least I – you know what, never mind,” Mitch says, and then a devious smile spreads across his face. “Maybe this year we’ll get to play against each other again. Just like old times, eh?”

“What’s this?” Connor asks.

“Intramural sports, back in college,” Mitch says. “Dyls and I were on opposite teams.”

“He’s the worst person to play against,” Dylan says.

“Why?” Connor asks.

“He’s sneaky, all chirps and no skill,” Dylan says.

“F – screw you,” Mitch says. “I’m all chirps  _ and  _ skill.”

“I’m sorry, who was a three-time broomball champion?” Dylan asks. “I’m pretty sure it was me, and, like, not you.”

“The refs in the second championship–”

“Weren’t you guys friends back in college?” Connor interrupts, because he feels like this is an old argument.

“Well,” Mitch starts.

“Sometimes,” Dylan says. “We played together a couple times, and things clicked.”

“We’re kind of unbeatable in dodgeball,” Mitch says.

“Gotcha,” Connor says. “What about kickball? Which of you is better?”

“Me,” Dylan says immediately, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

“I’m good too,” Mitch protests.

“You’re faster, but I’ve got more power in my kick,” Dylan says. “Isn’t that what we decided after last year?”

“I see,” Connor says. “That makes sense.”

“Are you evaluating us?” Mitch asks.

“Yep,” Connor says cheerfully.

Mitch looks like he’s about to say something when Sidney walks into the teacher’s lounge and makes a beeline for their table.

“Hello, Connor,” Sidney says. “Excited for the kickball game?”

“We were just talking about it. I think it’ll be great,” Connor says.

Sidney nods. “Well, I’m looking forward to playing against you. I think the students are excited, and I want to make sure that it’s an exciting game to watch.”

“I think it will be,” Connor says.

“Davo’s crazy competitive,” Dylan says, and Connor sees Sidney’s eyes narrow at that.

“Really,” Sidney says. “Then, may the best captain win.”

“He will,” Connor says.

Sidney gives them a curt nod and walks out of the teacher’s lounge, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, Mitch and Dylan burst into hysterical laughter.

“Oh my god,” Mitch says, wiping tears from the corner of his eye, “that was the most intense thing I’ve ever seen.”

“This is gonna be the wildest game of faculty kickball we’ve ever seen, man,” Dylan says.

Connor frowns. “It’s still a game,” he says. “It’s no fun unless you take it seriously.”

“I know, I know, it’s just funny,” Dylan says. “You don’t really – get like that much, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t lose, so,” Connor says. He’s kind of embarrassed, and maybe a little grumpy that they’re laughing at him.

“No, it’s not a bad thing, I promise,” Mitch says,.

“It’s incredible,” Dylan says, and he looks at Connor with this huge smile that does things to Connor, things that he can’t even begin to unpack. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for a kickball game.”

Dylan meets Connor’s eyes, and suddenly, Connor’s frozen, because holy fuck, Dylan’s smiling at him like he’s something amazing and wonderful, and even though he’s still laughing, there’s something so genuine in it. Connor doesn’t know what to do about it. Time slows down, and all Connor can do is look at Dylan and want – want something, something he can’t place, or something he can place, but shouldn’t, not here and now. There are a million other things that Connor should be thinking about, but his mind is suddenly overcome with a stream of  _ Dylan Dylan Dylan  _ and it’s just so much.

“I should head back to my office,” Connor stutters, and the smile falls from Dylan’s face. Connor has to bite his lip to keep himself from telling Dylan to go back to laughing, because that would be such a weird fucking thing to say, and Connor doesn’t actually trust himself to talk to Dylan, or like, be around him.

“Okay, see you,” Mitch says, a confused look on his face.

“Bye,” says Dylan, and Connor can hear the concern in his voice, even though his back is already turned.

He shuts the door to his office when he gets there, and he can feel his phone buzz in his pocket a few times, but he can’t look at it. Instead, he locks the door and focuses on breathing deeply and expelling all thoughts of Dylan from his head.

There’s a knock on his door a few minutes later, and Connor quickly gets up to unlock the door, silently praying it’s not Dylan.

Thankfully, it’s Sidney.

“May I come in?” Sidney says, and Connor nods.

“Of course,” Connor says, and they sit down at his desk.

“I just – for the kickball game,” Sidney says. “I thought it would be best if we talked about who we were selecting pre-draft.”

“Oh, yeah,” Connor says, and relief floods through him. Right now, he’s grateful to have something to focus on besides his teacher’s lounge breakdown, and easily falls into the strategy discussion with Sid.

By the time they’re done, Connor has a full roster – Dylan is on his team, Mitch is on Sidney’s – and Connor can breathe again.

***

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us,” Dylan says. His face is bright red and he’s pretty sweaty, but he also finished their warm-up laps before every other faculty member on the team besides Connor, so Connor doesn’t really know why he’s complaining.

“It’s a great example to set for the students,” Connor says. “Right, Coach Nurse?”

Nursey nods. “Think this hits on all our curriculum points: work ethic, teamwork, physical fitness.”

“They told me I’d be done with gym class after high school,” Dylan says. “Where’d you even find kickball drills?”

“That’s what they teach you when you get certified to teach gym,” Nursey says.

“Seriously?” asks Dylan.

“No, of course not,” Nursey says. “But it’s not that hard to figure out that if you want to play good kickball, you should probably practice kicking the ball.”

“Davo’s not kicking the ball,” Dylan points out.

“I’m pitching,” Connor says. “Pitchers don’t kick.”

“That’s why they never let me kick?” Dylan asks.

“Didn’t you captain this team once?” Connor says, raising his eyebrows. “Thought you’d know the rules.”

“I didn’t know there was a kickball rulebook, excuse me,” Dylan says.

“Whatever, go wait your turn to kick,” Connor says, smiling.

“Alright, whatever you say, Captain McD,” Dylan says, returning Connor’s smile before jogging over to the area behind the plate.

Connor turns to Nursey. “Seriously, thanks for running this practice.”

“No problem,” Nursey says. “It’s more fun this way anyway. Makes for a better game and all that.”

“Yeah. How’s Sid’s team doing?” Connor asks.

“Well, Strome’s the best kicker on the faculty for sure, but you guys have pretty even teams. Fleury’s probably gonna be bothering you guys from behind the plate, and Seguin’s pretty fit, for a drama teacher.”

“And Mitch is fast.”

“Marner’s really fast,” Nursey confirms. “But you guys got Kessel and Steadman, our last two MVP’s.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Connor says.

“Yeah, Crosby didn’t totally screw you over,” Nursey says. “C’mon, let’s start the pitching drills.”

Nursey was right about their team being strong – even without athletic skill, most of them have a good attitude, which makes Connor happy. It’s fun, too, and at the end of it, everyone’s smiling.

“Good practice, everyone,” Connor says. “Thanks to all of you for doing this, and thanks to Coach Nurse for running it.” Everyone applauds before gathering their stuff, and most people go out of their way to say goodbye and thank Nursey personally.

Connor sticks around to go over a few logistical things about the team with Nursey, so the parking lot is pretty much empty when he gets there, but he finds Dylan is waiting by his car.

“Think I could get a ride?” Dylan asks. He’s still sweaty enough that his shirt is clinging to him, and his face is red, and his hair is messy, and fuck, he looks good.

“Of course,” Connor says.

“That practice was probably a good idea,” Dylan says as he gets into the car. “I’m so gonna compare notes with Mitch.”

“Nursey gave me some details,” Connor says. “I think we’re all running the same drills.”

“Right,” Dylan says. “I kind of want to win.”

“Now you want to win?” Connor asks lightly, but Dylan doesn’t really laugh.

“I dunno. It’s a good tradition, and it’s my last one,” he says.

“Oh,” Connor says.

“I mean, it’s – it’s a kickball game, and it’s about the students, but – it’s still a goodbye.”

“Alright,” Connor says. “We’ll win it for you, promise.”

Dylan laughs. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it,” Connor says, and the smile Dylan gives him is so bright that Connor has to turn away.

***

“You know,” Mitch says to Connor as they’re driving home from the musical, which Dylan had been too sick to attend, “I don’t think it’s a conflict of interest for you to date a teacher.”

Connor’s glad he’s not driving, because he probably would have crashed his car.

“What?” Connor asks, feeling a little dizzy all of a sudden.

“Like, I’m just saying,” Mitch continues, “if there were a certain teacher you were interested in – like, maybe a tall one, who looks like he hasn’t slept in eighty years – you could probably, like, ask him out.”

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor says.

“You do,” Mitch says plainly. “Listen, I understand if you’re, like, reluctant, but it’s sort of – I spend a lot of time around you guys.”

“And?” Connor asks.

“And, I think you’re both being kind of ridiculous,” Mitch says.

“Has he said anything to you?” Connor asks.

“I mean,” Mitch says, “I can’t tell you whether or not he has.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” Connor asks.

“Because I think you like him, and it could be good,” Mitch says. “Am I way off base?”

Connor’s silent in the passenger’s seat for a second, feeling a little cornered. “Why do you think that?”

“What?” Mitch asks.

“Like, what makes you think I’m interested in him?” Connor says, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice and probably failing.

“I’m not gonna point to, like, specific moments,” Mitch says. “I spend a lot of time with you two. I’m getting a vibe. Like, I don’t want this to be the kind of thing where neither of you does anything about this because you’re both too scared. I’m just trying to help, I promise.”

“Okay, well,” Connor says, and he doesn’t really know how to finish the sentence. He might be angry; he’s definitely caught off-guard and stressed out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s my first year, and I’m the youngest assistant principal the school’s ever had,” says Connor. “So even if it’s, like, technically okay, I don’t really – I’m trying to stay at this job, alright? I’m trying to become a real principal, and I don’t think asking a teacher out is a good idea.”

“And that’s not just an excuse?” Mitch asks.

“Even – even if it is,” Connor says, his voice kind of shaky, “it’s a pretty good one.”

“I guess,” Mitch says, sighing. “But – and I won’t tell him, I promise – do you like him?”

Connor doesn’t say anything for a second. “I – it’s not–”

“It’s not complicated,” Mitch says. “Or whatever, I just – as your friend, I want to know, do you like Dylan?”

It’s the first time Mitch has said his name out loud the entire conversation, and just hearing it makes Connor’s chest swell, because fuck, he does, he really, really does.

“Yeah,” Connor says, his voice small.

“You know he’s leaving in, like, two weeks,” Mitch says. “And like, you won’t – you’ll still be his friend, no matter what.”

“Alright,” Connor says, not really believing it.

“You will be,” Mitch says. “Dude, Dylan – he’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”

“I mean, he’s a good guy,” Connor says.

“He is,” Mitch says. “Like, he tutored me in pre-med physics for a year – that shit is hard.”

“You were gonna be a doctor?” Connor asks.

“I don’t know, it seemed like the kind of thing smart people did, and I watched a lot of  _ Scrubs  _ in high school,” Mitch says. “He was the first person I told when I realized I just didn’t want to do it.”

“You were going to be a doctor because of  _ Scrubs?”  _ Connor asks, smiling a little bit.

“Can you – that’s not the point,” Mitch says. “Stop interrupting my sweet anecdote about the generosity of our mutual friend.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Connor says.

“Anyway, point is, he tutored me in that, and then, when I switched majors, he kept tutoring me so I could catch up,” he says. “He just wants his friends to be happy, y’know? And like, I’ve seen him put aside his own shit so many times to help other people. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an ass, but he’s like, dangerously nice where it counts.”

“Dangerously nice,” Connor repeats. “Gotcha.”

“Like… I don’t know, maybe this is just me, but I trust you with him. Not that you need, like, my blessing, but – I don’t know. I trust him with you, too.”

“I just – he’s still a teacher,” Connor says.

“Two weeks,” Mitch says. “I think – he’s been worried that you, like, hate him, ever since you freaked out in the teacher’s lounge.”

“I didn’t – that was nothing,” Connor says. “We’ve hung out since.”

“I know, I told him to drop it, but – he doesn’t want to fuck things up with you either.”

“Oh,” Connor says dumbly, because he doesn’t really know what else to say. Thankfully, he’s saved from having to think of something more, because they pull up in front of his house.

“Take care,” Mitch says.

“Thanks for driving,” Connor says, still kind of flustered from everything.

The “Two weeks!” Mitch yells after him as he’s walking to his front door doesn’t really help.

***

They lose the kickball game, which – well.

It’s a game, and the kids are watching, so Connor keeps his composure, shakes Sid’s hand and gives Mitch a congratulatory hug, but – they lost.

Losing fucking sucks, and it’s been a while since Connor’s played anything besides, like, board games, but he’s sweaty and humiliated as he stands on the pitch and watches Crosby’s team, with two outs at the bottom of the last inning, get three extra runs to put them up by 1.

He doesn’t curse, because middle schoolers are vicious, and middle schoolers with phones are even worse. He doesn’t cry, because there are students running up to him – the study hall regulars – shouting their congratulations, showing them the signs they made. No one seems to care who won and who lost, because it was a well-played game with no trophy and no stakes.

The only thing Connor can do is say a few words about teamwork and sportsmanship and congratulate Sidney, and flash his usual school administrator smile. Then, he and Sid present Nursey with a small trophy thanking him for his hard work, instead of naming an MVP, because that’s a good message to send the students.

It’s a game for the students.

But in Connor’s head, he played – and he played  _ hard –  _ for Dylan, and even though Dylan doesn’t seem upset, they still fucking lost.

“Hey,” Dylan says as everyone’s dispersing after the game. “That was amazing.”

“Would’ve been nice to get the win,” Connor says, and he means for it to come across as a joke, but he can tell it doesn’t land.

“It’s just a game,” Dylan says, and Connor hates that Dylan’s comforting him. “You’ll get ‘em next year.”

“Next year,” Connor’s voice echoes.

“I – it’s alright,” Dylan says. “I’m not torn up, you shouldn’t– it’s fine.”

“I guess the end of the year is just weird,” Connor says.

“I feel that,” Dylan says. “Here, let’s find Marns.”

Mitch is smiling into his phone, which means he’s probably texting Auston, and when he spots Connor and Dylan, there’s a smug look on his face.

Connor finds it weirdly reassuring.

“So, like, good game and all, but we totally won,” Mitch says.

“What sportsmanship,” Dylan says.

“Sportsmanship is for losers,” Mitch says.

“I’m pretty sure that sportsmanship is the whole point of this,” Connor points out.

Mitch scoffs. “Maybe for the students. The rest of us are trying to win.”

“You’re being annoying,” Dylan says. “I’m too wiped out from that game to think of anything clever, but you once pretended to not know how to skate and let a boy from Arizona teach you.”

“He’s from Arizona?” Connor says. “Mitchell, have you no Canadian pride?”

“Do you guys only have one chirp?” Mitch asks, shoving Dylan lightly. “Also, he’s a beast. Plays beer league and all that. Anyways, good game, it was fun to crush you one more time.”

“You’re the worst,” Dylan says, but he gives Mitch a hug anyway.

“Love you too, buddy,” Mitch says.

There aren’t any students to see it, but Connor can’t help but say, “You guys are really feeding the fire on the marriage rumors.”

“Marriage rumors?” Mitch says, pulling away from Dylan and crinkling his nose. “I’m a little offended.”

“Excuse you,” Dylan says.

“You look like roadkill,” Mitch says.

“Oh my god, we get it, you think I look like a raccoon, haha,” Dylan says, like it’s an old argument. “I’m, like, super handsome. Davo, back me up.”

“Oh, yeah Davo, back him up,” Mitch says, with a grin that Connor would describe as shit-eating if they weren’t on school property.

Connor blushes, because of course he does, but he does say, “Here’s a compromise: you’re an incredibly good-looking raccoon.”

Dylan thinks about it for a second. “As long as I’m incredibly good-looking, I’ll take it.”

Connor doesn’t miss the way Dylan’s face turns a little red at the compliment, though, and judging by the look Mitch gives Connor after, neither does he.

***

The last day of school was three days ago, so while Connor’s still here, teachers aren’t coming in anymore, and he’s been mostly trapped in his office responding to an endless barrage of emails between meetings. So, when there’s a knock on his door, he kind of jumps.

“Come in,” he says, and he’s surprised to see Dylan, who’s holding a box with a bow on it.

“Hi,” Dylan says. “I, uh – I was gonna give this to you before the game, but it came late.”

“What?” Connor asks, confused.

“I guess – I mean, it was supposed to be a good luck charm, but I guess that didn’t work out. Here,” he says, placing the box down on Connor’s desk. “Open it.”

Connor can tell it’s a tie by the shape of the box, but it’s not until he opens it that he sees there are kickballs on it, and that it says  _ Captain McD  _ on one of them.

“I couldn’t, um, find a kickball tie online,” Connor says, a little stunned.

“Yeah,” Dylan says, a small smile on his lips. “I had to get it custom.”

“Seriously?” Connor asks. “Just for the game?”

“And for you,” Dylan says, and he turns his face away from Connor. “I mean, I’m still going to be around, but, uh – you’re sort of one of my best friends?” He says it like it’s a question.

“And you’re mine,” Connor says. “I’m gonna miss having you here, Dyls.”

“I’m gonna miss being here, but – it’s a good thing. Goodbyes are just hard,” he says. “I’m excited for this new job.”

“Yeah,” Connor says.

“I also – I turned in my grades, so I’m officially done,” Dylan says. “Like, I’m on vacation right now.”

“Lucky you,” Connor says. “I have to finish out the week.”

“Sucks,” Dylan says. “Am – are you super busy right now?”

Connor is, but there’s no fucking way he’s kicking Dylan out of his office right now, so he shakes his head. “No meetings for the rest of the day. What’s up?”

“I kind of wanted to talk to you about something,” Dylan says, tugging at the collar of his shirt as he looks intently at the floor.

“Yeah, sure,” Connor says, trying to keep his voice calm despite the sudden onslaught of butterflies in his stomach.

“So, I – there are – things, between coworkers, they can be weird, so I didn’t want to say this while we were working together, but – now we’re not, and even if you don’t – like, things won’t be weird.”

“Even if I don’t what?” Connor asks, and he feels himself getting a little giddy.

“I – I like you,” Dylan says. “I mean, like, I  _ like- _ like you.”

“You like-like me?” Connor asks, and he thinks he might be smiling, even though he's also kind of shaking with excitement.

“Shut up, we work in a middle school,” Dylan says, and even as he makes the joke, he looks terrified. He’s still staring down at his feet. “But, yeah, I like – we’re close friends, and I just – there’s something here, right?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, and Dylan looks up at him, alarmed, like he wasn’t expecting Connor to agree so quickly.

“So you – do you–”

“Yes, yep, sure,” Connor stands up from his desk chair and walks to face Dylan. “Or, you haven't asked anything, but, uh, yeah. Me too.” 

“You have to say it, or I’m not gonna believe you,” Dylan says.

"Okay, fine." Connor laughs, a little nervous and then, in the most sincere voice he can muster, he says, “I like-like you too."

“You – wow, fuck you,” Dylan says, smiling like he's not even remotely offended by the chirp.

“Language,” Connor says. He's

“I don’t work here anymore,” Dylan says. “I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

“Guess I’ll just have to shut you up, then,” Connor says, and he doesn’t know where  _ that  _ came from, but it gives him an excuse to lean in and kiss Dylan, so.

The thing is, Connor’s a pretty normal guy, with normal expectations of things, but he’s pretty sure that it’s objectively the most magical kiss in the history of the world. Dylan feels so good, and Connor’s wanted this for so, so long.

“Holy shit,” Dylan says when he pulls back, and it’s probably been a while, but Connor still thinks it’s too soon. “Since when are you that smooth?”

“I’m smooth,” Connor says. “Super smooth.”

“I seem to recall you giving the world’s most awkward ‘first day of school’ speech,” Dylan says. “Forgive my disbelief.”

“You said I did well!” Connor says.

“I lied,” Dylan says simply. “Didn’t want to upset the cute new VP.”

“You thought I was cute?” Connor asks, and he feels his face grow hot.

Dylan strokes a thumb across Connor’s cheek. “You can’t honestly be surprised,” he says.

Instead of saying anything, Connor leans in and kisses Dylan again.

* * *

**Epilogue**

It’s Connor’s second first day of school, but Dylan has a week until his first day, so he really has no reason to be up this early, even if he does look painfully cute in one of Connor’s old t-shirts.

“Why are you awake?” Connor asks, wandering into his kitchen.

“I got you a gift, duh,” Dylan says. “Made coffee.”

“That’s so sweet. You didn’t have to,” Connor says, smiling.

“The coffee’s not the gift, just to clarify,” Dylan says. “It’s this.” He grabs a tie off the counter and hands it to Connor, who inspects it.

“Apples,” Connor says. “Aw, you’re a teacher’s pet.”

“Technically, I’m the only teacher in this relationship,” Dylan says.

“Semantics,” Connor says, going to the coffee maker.

“So, are you gonna wear it?” Dylan asks, coming up behind Connor and putting his hands around his waist, which feels nice, even if it does make it harder to pour coffee.

“If you tie it for me,” Connor says.

Dylan smiles. “Gladly.”

It’s a nice gesture, domestic, almost, even if they technically haven’t moved in together yet, and Dylan’s careful to tie it just right.

“Perfect,” Dylan says when he’s done, examining his work. “You look very… vice principal.”

“Thanks,” Connor says, laughing softly. “You didn’t have to get me a gift, you know.”

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t get me one, I dare you.”

“I – okay, maybe,” Connor says.

“You needed a first day tie, man,” Dylan says.

Outside, a car horn honks, which means Mitch is here,

“I gotta go,” Connor says, and gives Dylan a kiss.

“Have a good first day,” Dylan says. “Tell Marns I say hi.”

“Will do,” Connor says. “I’ll miss you in the teacher’s lounge.”

“I’ll text you all day,” Dylan says solemnly.

“You better,” Connor says, and Mitch honks again.

“I love you,” Dylan says. “Go, he’s impatient.”

“Love you too,” Connor says, and kisses Dylan one more time on his way out the door.

As he makes his way towards Mitch’s car, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he knows it’s a text from Dylan without even checking.

_ This is gonna be a good year,  _ he thinks.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find any common triggers in this story, but if there is anything you feel should be tagged, please let me know!
> 
>  **Bonus content:**  
>  -Okay, so, yes, Mikey and Nate own a roller disco, yes they're in love, yes I'm considering writing a fic explaining how the fuck that happened, but I have Real World stuff to write and 9 other wips so WE'LL SEE! (Mikey was a real estate agent for a second before they opened up said roller disco, based on that one time he said that if he weren't a hockey player, he'd be a real estate agent)  
> -The "slow it doooooooowwwwwwwwwnnnnnn" song at the roller disco (I couldn't make myself type it like that in the story, but that's 100% how he says it) is "How Deep Is Your Love," in case anyone wanted to know.  
> -I remembered that I didn't have to limit myself to the NHL way too late, otherwise this would have featured many more women's hockey players :(  
> -Referenced players who don't speak: Marc-Andre Fleury, Amanda Kessel, Kelley Steadman, Tyler Seguin. Also, the tiniest shoutout to Taylor Hall.  
> -Tyler Seguin is a drama teacher, and I want you all to take a moment to really let that sink in.  
> -Not that anyone but me cares, but Sid's husband is Geno, who is the principal of the new school Dylan's teaching at.  
> -Sid's also in the background of this trying to figure out if Connor and Dylan are dating. He and Geno gossip about it (esp. after Dylan gets hired at Geno's school)  
> -I mean, we all kind of think about going pre-med if we watch enough _Scrubs_ , right? I certainly have, and I'm not cut out to be a doctor in any way, shape, or form. But yeah, Mitch was really not digging pre-med, and he was tutoring to make money, and he sort of realized that he wanted to teach. Dropping a major is a more emotional decision than you expect it to be, sometimes, and Dylan really came through for Mitch, academically and emotionally.  
> -don't @ me but I love tutoring pre-algebra and algebra.  
> -The Edmonton Oilers are the Phys Ed staff, just to be clear. Nurse is head coach because he's my favorite. I did consider Nurse Nurse, and rejected that idea, because I have like, a teeny tiny scrap of self respect somewhere deep in my soul.  
> -Connor does have other friends besides Mitch and Dylan, also? He hangs out with the Phys Ed guys sometimes! He has non-work friends, too.  
> -Marc-Andre Fleury is Nurse Flower, and he gives kids stickers with flowers on them when they leave his office.  
> -Ali said I should include this glimpse into how Dylan's handling this entire year:  
>   
> -I wrote the Mikey/Nate roller disco portion before capebretons' [ and it's better (you and i)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11505684) came out, so I guess Mikey and rollerskates is just a very sensible combination? Purely coincidental, I swear.  
> -[Here ](https://twitter.com/lauren1171/status/877702097508065280) is the thread that inspired this. 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/)


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